It’s now been one week, four hours, eleven minutes and fourteen seconds since I was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. The previous post was an immediate reaction to the diagnosis and reading it back today I still get a sense of the huge mix of emotions going through my head at the time…..anger (some) disappointment (lots) and relief (yes, a little).
So how’s it gone? Well the good news is I’ve lost weight. At least a third of a stone. My scales no longer shout out ‘no coach parties please’. I know this may be hard to understand but I feel lighter. Am I playing mindgames with myself? Perhaps its my brain readjusting to the new way of life and sending me positive messages to stop me jumping over a cliff, or even worse, supersizing at Burger King.
So how have I done it? Willpower.
From day one I knew I had to do the job properly to get the desired results. Three glasses of wine (home measures) a night have been savagely reduced to three sensible sized glasses a week. This has had a profound effect on the weekly shop. I fear staff in ASDA think I may have died. Perhaps they’re organising flowers. Can I eat flowers? I’m certainly hungry enough to try. White lillies in a granary bap? Now you’re talking.
Water consumption has rocketed. I now pee like a horse and am thinking of having a small TV and some good books installed in the bathroom. I spend more time in there than any other room. I was pruning roses at the weekend and pricked my hands several times. I half expected to turn into a new and exciting fountain attraction. The village is crying out for one. I reckon I’d look quite spectacular at night illuminated by coloured lights. People could throw coins into my mouth.
The biggest change in my lifestyle has been a draconian no snacks ban. I’ve always viewed the three meals rule as a hugely flexible format for getting through a day. So grazing had to end. And it has. I find this incredibly difficult, particularly as I work from home. Biscuits play an important part in commerce and my deskspace has been adapted to cope with a ‘biscuit space’. Well you try compiling a VAT return without 14 Ginger Nuts.
No more. It has all had to end. I managed to get through the Easter weekend without eating any chocolate. A huge achievement considering they were everywhere. I feel very proud.
The wheels nearly came off a couple of days ago though. I found myself with an hour to kill on a retail park. Standard norms and practices would have seen me poke about a couple of stores, meander into McDonalds or Costa with a newspaper and an appetite and while away the time with coffee and provisions. That was then. Despite intense hunger pangs (only those who have them will ever know) and having to actually go into McDonalds to use the toilet, I had to resort to extreme measure to stop eating. I took myself into the Staples office supplies superstore and forced myself to spend 45 minutes going up and down every aisle looking at every item. And so to the staff who constantly approached a slightly edgy, irritable, drooling Scot in the photocopier aisle gnawing his arm, I apologise.
And so the days pass by. A new lifestyle, family support, hideous diet pills and willpower bordering on manic obsession is a potent mix. So far I’m doing OK. Am back at the doc on Monday. It’ll be two weeks since I was diagnosed. Perhaps we’ll celebrate with a party.
As in life I’ll leave the last words in this week’s blog to my dear wife:
“Does all this mean you get a disabled parking space?”